<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>I Dare You To Fall by QueenOfNewOrleans22</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28996515">I Dare You To Fall</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfNewOrleans22/pseuds/QueenOfNewOrleans22'>QueenOfNewOrleans22</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Mötley Crüe, The Dirt (2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mild Hurt/Comfort</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 10:42:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,304</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28996515</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfNewOrleans22/pseuds/QueenOfNewOrleans22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A small, muffled noise came in response. It sounded pitiful and weak. This wasn't the Nikki that Mick knew, but it was the one he loved, anyways. "You freaked Tom and Vince the fuck out, though." Mick walked over and, with the face of a man much older than he was, slowly sat down on the ground. </p><p>Logically, it was the worst thing that Mick could do, but he knew that, in a few years, he wouldn't be able to do it anymore. He rested his jacket on his knees and sighed. "You hurt yourself bad, Nik?" He asked, and the answer seemed like it was the only thing keeping the world moving at that moment. </p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mick Mars/Nikki Sixx</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>I Dare You To Fall</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mick sighed, pulling into the parking spot with a strange, practiced calmness despite the erratic, irregular pacing of his heartbeat. He shook his head as he took the keys from the ignition and stepped out of the car, looking at the apartment building with an increasing reluctance. He didn't know what he was going to find in that apartment, and he didn't want to know. </p><p>The sky was just beginning to turn the color of a fresh bruise. It was pleasantly cold, but Mick had to withhold the urge to shiver. He felt like a minder, some sort of keeper whose sole purpose was to make sure that the three people that he was in a band with didn't kill themselves. </p><p>Case in point - Nikki hadn't replied to phone calls nor fax messages for the last three and a half days. Tommy had dropped by and did his weekly pounding on the door, but there had been no answer and, finally, one of the neighbors had threatened to call the cops and so Tommy had beat a hasty retreat. Vince hsd been calling nonstop, and had reported nothing but the usual sardonic voicemail.</p><p>And so, as he always was, Mick was elected to be the responsible one, and he drove the over three hour drive that it took to get from his house to Nikki's apartment. Mick supposed that it was because Vince and Tommy were too busy either getting drunk or getting drugged and couldn't be damned to perform damage control, but Mick knew that it was because Nikki only really listened to him, like the dog who would only listen to his owner, which really wasn't the best way to put it but Mick couldn't be damned to think of another analogy. </p><p>The stairs were rickety and some of the screws were lose. Mick climbed them slowly, listing the worst and best things that could've happenes that would've made Nikki fall silent, and none of them were good, although Mick figured that having Nikki go on a binge was better than him being dead in the bathtub. </p><p>For a moment, Mick paused in front of the door, and he almost knocked, but then he relaixsd that if Nikki didn't open the door for Tommy, then Mick sure as hell wouldn't get the welcome wagon, so he dug out the extra key from his wallet and unlocked the door, stopping only to wonder if Nikki had gone the extra mile and actually changed the locks. </p><p>Thankfully, Mick's key worked. For a moment, he hesitated before pushing open the door. He stared at the hallway, at the dark shadows in the corners, and then he walked inside, closing the locking the door behind him, just for extra measure. </p><p>If Nikki was high, then he would be insistent about every door and every window being shut and locked. Mick knew that from experience, and he pondered that fact as he peered into the empty kitchen. 'Empty' was both figurative and literal, as there was no food in there, nor a certain bassist. The living room was in similar condition, and it was then that Mick paused again. </p><p>Usually, Nikki made a mess when he was in such a state that nothing nor nobody made sense. He would overturn furniture and smash glass, but everything was in the usual half-mess that Nikki left things with his casual lack of care. Hell, his coat was hanging up on the rack, which was a sign that things were wrong already. Mick frowned, but kept his silence. </p><p>The bathroom was in a much worse condition. The shower curtain had been ripped from its hooks and was now in a pile on the floor. The mirror had been smashed, and there was a few streaks of dried blood on the linoleum floor. Mick told himself to calm down before he got the chance to panic, and he looked at the broken shards of glass on the floor. A particularly sharp, jagged piece had one side covered in blood. Mick's stomach turned. He looked on the sink and saw that the first aid kit was open, and that the roll of gauze was wrong. '<em>Thank God.' </em></p><p>Shutting off the light, Mick walked away and into the bedroom. It was a similar mess, and, also similarly, Nikki was nowhere to be seen. His clothes had been stewn across the floor, and there was dried blood on the sheets of the bed. Mick wondered if he should've grabbed that first aid kit, but didn't feel like going back into that bathroom, so he didn't. </p><p>It wasn't a mystery, it really wasn't, but that didn't make it any easier. Mick took off his jacket, closed the door, didn't lock it because Nikki would probably want an escape and Lord knew that he would jump out the window if that was his only option. "It's just me." Mick said, and he sounded sorrowful, like a man in mourning, which was close enough to the truth, he supposed. </p><p>A small, muffled noise came in response. It sounded pitiful and weak. This wasn't the Nikki that Mick knew, but it was the one he loved, anyways. "You freaked Tom and Vince the fuck out, though." Mick walked over and, with the face of a man much older than he was, slowly sat down on the ground. </p><p>Logically, it was the worst thing that Mick could do, but he knew that, in a few years, he wouldn't be able to do it anymore. He rested his jacket on his knees and sighed. "You hurt yourself bad, Nik?" He asked, and the answer seemed like it was the only thing keeping the world moving at that moment. </p><p>"You're all the same. You're all the fucking same." Nikki sounded bitter and hurt and his voice was hoarse. Had he been crying? Mick didn't want to know the answer because he already knew it. </p><p>"No. Vince and Tommy and I aren't the same." Mick went through the script, his rehearsed lines, the useless comforts. </p><p>There wasn't a response for a long while. Hours could've passed and Mick would've been none the wiser. He just sat there and listened as the clock ticked and watched as the sun disappears beyond the horizon and the sky turned the color of a fresh bruise. </p><p>Mick waited, silent as ever. He didn't push or prod. He just sat there, waiting for permission or an answer. </p><p>The other sliding door to the closet was pushed open, and Mick felt it jostle against his back. He didn't look at Nikki, whose eyes were red and hair was messy. Nikki had a clumsy bandage around his right arm and he had scratch marks on his face. He looked as if he'd just been assaulted, but Mick knew not to fear, because Nikki had only done it to himself. </p><p>Slowly, Nikki crawled foward on his hands and knees like a child. He looked like a scared child, too. He lay down on his side and rested his head on Mick's knees. It felt good. Mick reached down and pressed his hand against Nikki's face. "Did you hurt yourself badly?" He repeated. </p><p>Nikki's eyes were like broken shards of coloured glass, and damn, if that didn't break Mick's heart. "No. Not to the b - bone." He looked cold, and felt like it, too. </p><p>If Mick was none the wiser, he could've been convinced that Nikki was a corpse. </p><p>"What happened?" Mick asked. </p><p>"My mom called." Nikki whispered. "I'm sorry, Mick. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." His heart began to beat quite fast and quite hard. </p><p>"Shhh." Mick said. "I know you're sorry. I'm not mad." </p><p>"Do you promise that you're not mad?" Nikki asked, and he sounded small and like the whole world rested on this answer. </p><p>"Yes, Nikki, I promise." </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Bye.</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>